Mock the Man
by Sherringford Holmes
Summary: Final chapter up! Don't worry though you lovely people, I have a plan! Read and Review, full apology of lateness is enclosed and ready for you to read and probably laugh at and go "Yeah, right!" but it the truth. So... ONWARDS!
1. Rejection is not a good idea

Mock the Man

Sherlock and John were sitting on the floor, their back's against the sofa, in the front room of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock was in hell as John was enthralled in a T.V programme, Sherlock was booooooooooooooooored.

Before he knew it he had his lips firmly purchased on the neck of his boyfriend, he was trying his best to make the world's reddest love bite as he sucked and sucked at the skin that was captured in Sherlock's mouth.

"No! Sherlock," John said, pushing his boyfriend off him, Sherlock's lips leaving John's neck at a comical fashion, making a toilet plunger noise as the lips in question let go of the other man's skin.

"Joooooooooooooohnnnn!" Sherlock whined

"No," John replied simply

"But….." Sherlock started

"Sherlock! You've had me all day to yourself and when I'm preoccupied you want me. Let me watch this and then we can do something then-" John started angrily

"But I can't wait!" Sherlock crooned as he snuggled closer to his lover, attaching his lips back onto his John's jaw, putting butterfly kisses up and to his earlobe, to which he took into his mouth and started to suck.

"Nooooooooooo," John said, his strength melting, along with his self-restraint. John took hold himself and shook himself back into the real world, he stood up and plonked himself on the sofa. Sherlock saw this as a challenge; of _course he did_.

Sherlock stood up, stretched, and made it look as if he'd let the urge pass. Then, oh-so-slowly he opened his legs and sat down over John's legs, one legs either side, perfectly blocking all view of the TV. Then turning to John's neck he continued his ministrations, sucking and licking at the doctor's skin, making him close his eyes in pleasure.

"Nooooo.." John moaned, insisting for the torturous love to stop and for Sherlock to stop his persuasive tongue in its operations.

Sherlock said nothing, he just moved his mouth upwards and found _that_ spot behind his right ear, sucking and nibbling gently he let John's groans spur him on.

"No, NO, NO!" John said strongly, making Sherlock pull his head back, his red swollen lips in contrast with his flushed face, high pink blush on his cheekbones, the blush seeping into his chest making his pale, marble skin tinged pink in frustration.

"_Please,"_ Sherlock begged, his eyes were simply smouldering

"_NO,"_ John repeated sternly

"_Fine, _you know what _fine!_ The TV is being chosen over _me!" _Sherlock replied indignantly "Well, thanks a lot!" Sherlock huffed and raised his hands into the air in complete defeat.

John turned to look at him in the eye.

"Sherlock! This isn't just some TV! This is some of the _best comedy_ EVER written! This stuff is utterly priceless," he said "and Sherlock"

"What?" Sherlock shrieked

"You're in the way of the TV," John smirked

Sherlock let out a rush of air from his lips, he was absolutely _seething!_ How _dare he!_

Sherlock unsaddled himself from John's lap and then straightened his suit to a respectable level, licked his lips and then strode into the kitchen and slid the door closed loudly.

"Childish!" John shouted after him

Silence replied to John emptily, he set his concentration back onto the TV.

_10 minutes later_

Sherlock was sitting in the kitchen, a case balancing in the rest of his findings he kept his senses on the petri dish in-front of him. The conditions had to be completely perfect, nothing could disturb the air.

Then John Watson slid the kitchen door open quickly.

Sherlock lost his concentration for just half a second and in that time the experiment was, in his mind, deemed completely useless. He sighed, agitated, throwing the petri dish in the bin, he pulled off his latex gloves and binned those too. He turned to John.

"Well done!" he said sarcastically to the other, shorter man.

"What?"

"I assume the dross you were watching has finished, then," Sherlock retorted

"Yes," John replied, as he rolled his eyes

"So, what do you want?" Sherlock said shortly

"Well, as been as you wanted to…y'know….." John said seductively as he stalked closer to his prey, i.e. Sherlock.

His hands reaching out for Sherlock, who didn't reply, only let his lover continue. Dipping his hands in his boyfriends pockets John pulled their bodies closer together, Sherlock could feel John's interest against his leg.

Sherlock let out simply, one word.

"No,"

And with that Sherlock picked up his coat, gloves and scarf and exited the flat, and braved the winter weather, leaving a needy and lust drugged John to himself in the kitchen.

"But you wanted to 10 minutes ago!" John called

The door slamming was his reply.

John Watson slept badly that night.

Sherlock-deprived, lusting uncontrollably and completely and utterly needy.


	2. Follow the trail

Mock the Man Part Two

Hi guys. I am sooo sorry this took so long to do! Honestly! I mean in the time it's taken me to update two of my cats have died, my cat of 12 years Snuggle and my cat of only 2 Crumble, I've been to London and found out I'm moving house and I've got my GCSE's to look forward to soon so life's throwing it at me at the moment. Anyway, rant over… I would love love love to say a MAHUSIVE thank you to **stardiva** for giving me some inspiration and for being so patient and not haranguing me AT ALL, so TTTHHHHAAANNNNKK YYYYOOOUUUU! I mean this chapter isn't that long, just a little bit of fluffy fun and I hope you lovely, wonderful people will carry on with me and my dodgy updating schedule. I'd like to dedicate this to my cats, if that isn't too weird…

Disclaimer: [I think I need to do these a little more often of I'll have Mark Gatiss on my back…actually, _that_ isn't such a bad idea…] Not mine, sadly, or Sarah wouldn't exist AT ALL (she's SUCH a cow) and John and Sherlock would be able to live in peace and face the world together. Alone. Anyone else getting the vibe that I don't like Sarah?

Part II

_On my way home._

_What do you want for dinner?_

_J_

Strolling to the local tube station to get home John Watson he checked his phone before he went underground to the station because he knew there was no signal when you're speeding through the ground on the Bakerloo line. No reply, typical Sherlock. While on the tube he noticed every now and again the flash of maintenance light made the coach of the tube train light ethereally and faces of the public and tourists become half shadowed by the orange light seeping in.

Once at the destination that is Baker Street John hopped off the train and then hurried up the steps, along with the rest of the other London residents. John had got back into the old London walking pace in no time. But at the moment he was only interested in one thing. Sherlock.

John hurried to the door of 221B and pulled out his keys and shoved them in the keyhole. He rushed up the stairs, his body aching for its lover, anticipation making his muscles tingle with pleasure.

"Sherlock? Sherlock are you here?" John called into Sherlock's room.

No reply. John's body was already starting to expel his happy mood and then it was replaced by a horrible loneliness. John fished out his phone and texted Sherlock.

_Hey, got home._

_Where are you?_

_Text back what you want for tea._

_Love you,_

_J _

John sighed heavily and then fell down onto the sofa, letting out all the stress from his legs he started to search for the remote. Nothing. John hunted around, down the back of the sofa and under the sofa chairs by the fire. Still nothing.

John rationalised in his head. You don't _need_ the remote. Just use the buttons on the TV. He walked over to the TV and pushed the ON button. Nothing. The TV was dead. John looked at the socket. The plug was missing but where the plug was meant to be there was a sticky note, a bright, yellow post it sticky note with writing on it.

_My John,_

_You've found my trail,_

_Now to get the plug,_

_That I know it's your holy grail._

_Go in the kitchen, look in the bread bin,_

_Takes you to the next clue within._

John read it twice before he actually realised that Sherlock was _actually _being serious. He folded the note up and tucked it in his back pocket, a smirk gracing his chapped lips. He walked into the kitchen and over to the bread bin to which he opened the lid to find yet another post it note sitting in all it's glory at the bottom of the bin.

_My John,_

_You've found the second clue,_

_Third is a bit more difficult for you,_

_Delve into my bedroom if you dare,_

_The third clue will be waiting in there._

John huffed and smiled in amusement, Sherlock was behaving completely childishly. He ventured into Sherlock's room and looked around, completely mystified by where he was supposed to look. He searched around the room and then he finally noticed something. If Sherlock was to hide something, what place is relevant to _both_ of them? What place is Sherlock most likely to think that I'll look once I've thought about it.

John closed his eyes for a second. Where? Where could it be? John's eyes travelled around the room and as he looked over the room the wrought iron fireplace caught his attention because his eyes fell on the one other person in the room. The skull.

Smiling John walked over to the grinning shell and hesitantly picked it up and, inside, where the brain should be (to which John thought was completely inappropriate and a little disturbing, but in true Sherlock style) was a yellow sticky note pasted on the cranium. Sighing John pulled the note from the bone and put the skull back down on the mantel piece where it continued to grin at him sinisterly.

_My John,_

_Well done, my love, so now the penultimate clue,_

_In an object that's navy blue,_

_With a red button hole, you might understand,_

_In the living room, somewhere I place my hand._

John knew straight away, apart from the little bit at the end to throw him off the trail but he knew that Sherlock wouldn't want to make it THAT difficult to find whatever he was being sent on this treasure quest for he practically ran to the living room and threw the door closed and, behind the door, swinging in the wind of John's eagerness was Sherlock's coat, straight away John's hands dived into each pocket and John found, in the right pocket, a note.

_My John,_

_Well finally you made the quest,_

_I think you deserve a little rest,_

_Come upstairs to your old room,_

_You'll find what awaits you soon._

John practically threw the note down at this point and legged it up the stairs to his room. His _old_ room as Sherlock had put it. _Oh god…._ John thought _either one of two things, this was a sick joke and he wan't me out or he's about to propose that I move into his room._ John paused at the door handle, the cold metal warming at the heat of his clammy, excited hands. _Okay…_ he prepped himself, took a breath and pushed the door open.

What he saw next was truly astounding. Sherlock, fully kitted out in his finest attire, standing next to a little table that had only two plates of steaming food and a wine bottle, with the label on, _Typical Sherlock….., _and a red rose inside, it's crimson petals open wide to the world.

Sherlock smiled.

"You said dinner and I just thought I'd cover it tonight,"

John sighed happily and walked quickly towards Sherlock and enveloped him in a hug, his face next to Sherlock's ear and whispered "Thank you", he felt Sherlock's face crease into a smile as he spoke and when he pulled back he took a step back too, looking at the impeccable dark grey suit to which the detective was sporting. The trousers were a little tight but suited Sherlock perfectly, the dark blue silk shirt was beautiful with the taller man's eyes and his jacket was unbuttoned and hanging exquisitely from the detectives model frame. All John could see was perfection. And perfection was all Sherlock could see when he looked at John.

They both sat down at the table and they ate their food, the chat was continuous and flowing, laughter echoed around the room and happy sighs filled the air like metaphorical butterflies, gracing the air beautifully.

Midnight came and the fairy lights Sherlock had placed in the corner of the room made a sublime glow across the room, not to mention the moonlight that streaked in through the sky light that was above the bed in the middle of the room, making Sherlock's skin glow as if he was some angel sent from heaven. John knew and had his own opinions about religion and thought he didn't believe in God but in this moment he would because Sherlock looked ethereal in the natural moonshine. Sherlock paused the conversation and looked at John seriously.

"There _is_ a reason about all of this" he said, a smile pulling the left side of his lips, he held onto the right lapel with his right hand and his left delved into the abyss of the inside pocket and when he pulled the hand out there was a silver ring in his fingers, caught by his thumb and his index finger was a simple silver band. A smile crossed his face, a proper smile, not the one he put on for people when he was trying to trick them into giving him information, this was a proper smile, a real, blissful smile. John on the other hand had gone completely pale and was staring at the ring as if he was a venomous snake and it would attack him at any second. He opened his mouth as if to protest but Sherlock cut across him.

"Now! I know, I know! I don't deserve you! But honestly John, I _need_ you. You're like the sun to me, (see I do listen to you really) I can't live without you, you guide me, your my moral compass, you are everything to me, everything, and I feel so incredibly selfish by asking you to marry me but I don't want to share you with _anyone else_ because I want everyone to know that I have a brave, good, strong man for my husband and not strong in a weird way, your mentally strong, something I envy completely because I _need _ that feeling of belonging and that feeling of being grounded and you help me feel that. I want to grow old with you, I think that 2 years ago if someone asked me if I could see myself in 10 years where would I be and honestly, 2 years ago, I couldn't have answered but now, now I see it with you, I see you and me growing old together, companionship John and you're the _only_ person Ihave _ever _met that I have felt I can completely be myself and be completely happy with my place in life. So please, please understand that I am so below you and you deserve someone _so _much better than me and if you left and _found better _and married a woman and had children and moved out of here I don't think I would be able to survive, without you the light at the end of the tunnel will extinguish and I'll be stranded in the dark, completely lost without you. So really John, really. Will you marry me?" Sherlock finished, eye's glistening and breath shaking and it rattled out of his mouth.

John was lost for words for a few minutes, his mouth opening and closing of its own accord and the words disappearing like fog as he was about to dispel them from his mind but he finally managed to string a full, well almost full, sentence out from his dry lips.

"Y-y-y-you w-want to m-marry me?" he asked, disbelief lacing his voice and his eyes looked questioningly at Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded, a small sad smile on his lips.

"You don't want to do you?" he asked sadly, he shook himself and started to babble "of course! Of _course!_ Why would _you _want to marry _me?_ Who would ever,_ ever_ want to marry a person who can't even have a-"

The reason for the abrupt stop in Sherlock's ranting was a pair of chapped, dry lips pushing themselves over his own. John had literally leapt on Sherlock in an attempt to shut him up. John finally peeled his lips from Sherlock's and looked at him, deep into his eyes and spoke in clear, full tones.

"You bloody idiot, of _course _I want to marry you! The question is, why do you want to marry a short arse like me?" John smiled, tears forming in his eyes as Sherlock delved back into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the ring and slid it onto John's ring finger of his left hand. John laughed breathily as Sherlock applied the silver band to his finger in disbelief.

"Come on fiancée, we've got to go to bed early, I'm feeling a little," Sherlock searched for the word "out of character tonight".

Pulling John with him down the steps to _their _room Sherlock had no intention in doing _any _cases for _at least_ a day. And the only time they would leave the bedroom would be to eat, even though Sherlock had no intention of needing to refuel unless John was the one _providing_ the food.

Sooooo okay. Hope that wasn't too bad, I will post another chapter, if I find the time, I've got two scripts to learn, one for GCSE, one for on-stage acting I do in my hometown Theatre Severn. Anyway, speak to you all soon, please please review, I get all fuzzy feeling and it makes all this worthwhile. Also, any ideas for the Wedding would be FAN-TAS-TIC.

All my love intrepid Fanfiction-ers,

Ciao for now,

Nicole a.k.a TSOD (I know, _SOD_ ha ha bloody ha) xxxxxx


	3. Ok, was NOT expecting that

Mock the Man Part III

Hello _again _guys! A big thank you to **IAmTheMedusa **for generally being a complete godsend! Bombarding me with fantastic idea's etc etc. just a little bit to wet you appetite (that sounds _so _wrong…)

_So_ at the end of the last chapter Sherlock proposed to John, yes yes, all very fluffy and cute, here's this chapter just to tone is down, fluff with a little bit of a surprise :D

I wrote this this morning before school (I'm UK time) so I think, I hope, it makes sense.

Mock the Man Part III – Ok, _that _was a surprise…

It had been 6 months since Sherlock had proposed and it was the night before the wedding. It was nothing exuberant, just a gathering of friends and family in a register office but John had insisted they still had flowers, cake and food and all those _little_ things that made the day special, Sherlock suggested not inviting Mycroft but the idea didn't go down very well with John.

So there he was, lying in bed in his sister's house, this was his second night there, he and Harriet had been _bonding_- which entailed final wedding shopping-but lately Harriet had been on a detox to be able to come to the wedding and be sober for the ceremony. But as John lay there, fear bubbling in his stomach and excitement bubbling equally he reminded himself, _I'm going to be with Sherlock…forever…_a smile graced his face as he thought of Sherlock with greying streaks in his hair and wrinkles deepening in his skin as the years went by, John's heart warmed like he'd just sat next to a fire as he thought about the years to come, those thoughts drifted him into a peaceful sleep, his mind, busily still worrying, subconsciously about the next day.

Sherlock Holmes woke the next morning to an empty flat, again. He hated that John had gone for two days but John had to help his sister to try to get her from drinking anything because the last thing he needed was Harriet turning up, drunk, hiccupping him down the aisle.

The morning hurried along, people whisking him around and telling him where to stand and what to wear, what to do, how to act and what to say, surprisingly, Mycroft came up to him to wish him his congratulations and his best wishes for the future and to tell him the building was secured from any threat, then hastily leaving to see him at the register office. Before he knew it himself he was at the register office, waiting for John to arrive.

The door behind him emitted a low creak as they opened to show John, arm linked with Harriet's (it turned out she scrubbed up pretty well) and a huge smile plastered across his face to which Sherlock mirrored as he looked into his eyes. When they reached the Registrar Harriet kissed John on the cheek and made her way to her seat. The Registrar took this as a cue to begin.

"Dearly beloved we are gathered here to-"

_**BANG!**_

The colossal sound shook the room and a hush took over the room, no-one dared to talk, no- one dare the even breath. The sound had come from the reception area, the doors were pushed open to reveal Jim Moriarty walking out of the brick dust, his back turned to face around a bout where the reception desk was but there was so much dust that the room was impossible to see into.

"See?" Jim said slowly and arrogantly "you can put the _new _door _there,"_

John and Sherlock looked at each other with shocked expressions and then looked back at Moriarty who smiled widely.

"And where was my invite?" he ordered, the smile dropping instantly, his tone dripping with anger "after _everything _we've been through boys and I don't get an invite, _how rude! _I'm genuinely hurt! I really am!"

The entire room was quiet for a moment until Sherlock spoke up.

"What do you want?" he asked, his tone bored and uncaring.

"Oh Sherlock I want you, and I will have you, one day, but now," he paused "drop the pretence, I know you know what I'm here for, you willingly showed me your heart and, as a result of that you now have to choose, because now I know you care" Jim smiled evilly "your brother? Or your lover?"

Sherlock looked at John.

"Let the others go"

Jim looked at him, a half smile creeping onto his face, he looked genuine.

"Fair enough, the rest of you. _Scram"_

At that point the congregation hurried as they left.

"Oh and Elizabeth?"

Anthea turned around

"This is a secure unit now. My team are everywhere; don't think about calling you _friends…"_ Jim said dangerously, Anthea/Elizabeth nodded solemnly and walked from the room.

"Boys, do close the door on the way out," Jim said to the two bouncers who nodded seriously and exited the room, the door closing, and locking behind them.

"_So…"_ Jim started, his tone sickly sweet "who?"

Sherlock looked lost, he turned from John to Mycroft, his face falling and his eyes welling up in a new emotion that bubbled through him.

"Me" John said, stepping forward "pick me"

"NO!" Sherlock and Mycroft shouted angrily

"Fair enough," Jim said and with that he pulled out a gun from his jacket and shot John directly over the heart

"JOHN! NO!" screamed Sherlock


	4. Back in Time to sort things out

Mock the Man Part IIII

_2 hours previously_

_Knock Knock Knock_

"Come in"

John Watson turned around to find the door of his room being opened and Mycroft Holmes coming in to join him, a designer, tough paper carrier bag to which it's handle was in the crook of him arm.

"Good morning John" he said before closing the door behind him "now, it's come to my attention that James Moriarty slipped out of our grasp when you and Sherlock faced him last year, so as a precaution I'd like it if you'd just put this on" he gestured to the designer carrier bag, slipping out a semtex vest, it was incredibly thin but John imagined Mycroft probably wore one of these on daily basis being in control of most of the secret service "now don't think that I'm giving up on you and Sherlock because I'm not, this is purely just a precation. I have men who are going to be plain clothed outside the building if any funny business happens so, don't think that it's going to be easy _if_ he decides to invite himself, the reason I'm giving you one and not Sherlock is because Jim, we know, wants Sherlock alive and wants to hurt him mentally and the person he can do that with?" he asked, John caught on, Mycroft gestured to him with his hands "it's you,".

John took a shaky breath in and smiled at Mycroft

"Thank you for your concern," he said as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled the semtex vest on

"It'll fit with my shirt over the top won't it?" he asked picking up his shirt and putting his arms through the sleeves.

"It shouldn't make too much difference, I wear them a lot of the time" Mycroft smiled back at John, it seemed quite genuine.

There was a pause for silence for a few seconds, Mycroft not looking like he was going to leave.

"So" John said, trying to start a conversation "how are you and Lestrade?"

Mycroft almost choked on air, he looked surprise at John's reveal.

"Oh come on, I'm no Sherlock or you but I know for a fact there's something between you two," John said, turning his back on Mycroft to give himself time to compose himself and then look in the mirror to check his reflection and the amount of inches he'd gained around his chest. Fairplay; it didn't really look as if he was wearing it, to the untrained eye he could just be a trick of the light. John smiled to himself as he straightened his tie and turned back to Mycroft.

"So?" he asked inquisitively

Mycroft coughed "Well, yes, it's going well, that's what I was going to ask about too, Greg's birthday is coming up and being my first male partner I have nothing to get him, can I ask your opinion, please"

Johns eyebrows raised to his hairline, Mycroft, asking for help, he _actually _cared enough to want to buy the present himself rather than use his assistant, Anthea, to buy something suitable and boring for Greg for his birthday.

"You care about him that much?" John said softly, a small smile on his lips

"Yes" Mycroft replied, he looked rather embarrassed

"Well," John started, putting his doctor voice on, his assuring voice "what did you first think of? I mean originally?"

Mycroft looked uncomfortable as he replied "I thought cufflinks or something nice like flowers"

John felt so sorry for him, flowers, _bless_! But Lestrade wasn't that kind of guy John guessed, he didn't like the flowers of expensive gifts, just a simple, caring show of affection.

"Why not make him tea for when he comes home from work?" John suggested "just simple things like that, not over the top, just lovely things" John smiled gently and put his hand on Mycroft's shoulder "try, just see what happens, I'm sure he'd love it, I'm sure he doesn't want anything exuberant, just love, Mycroft"

Mycroft smiled and nodded appreciatively "Thank you" he whispered and exited the room hastily. John looked in the mirror and thought about his soon-to-be brother-in-law.

"I'm getting _married_" he whispered to himself, disbelievingly


	5. Back to the Wedding

_**A/N: Heeelllllooooooooo! Just a big thank you to **_**Princess Autumnal**_** who pointed out it needed to be Kevlar, not a semtex vest, God, I honestly worry myself sometimes with my stupidity, of course Mycroft wouldn't give him a bomb jacket, he might have a grudge at him but he wouldn't go THAT far!**_

_**Anyway, I'm rambling (obviously) I want you to enjoy this chapter, hopefully because I got to go home an hour and a half earlier today from school I can use that time to write this chapter. But just quickly, I'm going to see Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy tonight at 8pm, I haven't read the book but it's on my Christmas list (yes, a teenager with a Christmas list, get over it) but I have reserved seats at my local theatre that really is better than any other Cineworld or Odeon. Anyway, hope you're all ok, will, hopefully get the 6**__**th**__** chapter done for you tomorrow too.**_

_**Love you all and non-perverted cyber hugs**_

_**Nicole**_

_**xxx**_

Mock the Man Part V

_Back to present time at the wedding_

"JOHN!" Sherlock practically screamed as the doctor in question collapsed to the floor, Mycroft stood quickly and quickly went to his brother side, which was holding the "lifeless" body of John which was bleeding the fake blood (which was in a packet across the vest) at an incredible rate, it looked real.

Moriarty smiled manically.

"Done" he said simply and excitedly and he started to exited the building, before he did he turned his head slightly over his shoulder so Sherlock could hear him "I'll be coming for you soon Sherlock, I've just got to give you time to _crack _under the idea of no more Johnny boy to do your bidding" he let out one last laugh and left the building as quick as he'd appeared.

Meanwhile Sherlock was letting tears fall from his eyes onto Johns face, he looked so peaceful. Suddenly his eyes opened and adjusted to the light, Sherlock took a leap backwards, dropping John on the floor and his eyes widening into huge orbs, he took a second and then realised what had happened.

"_Honestly_, couldn't I have known about this?" he said angrily

"I wanted to tell you Sherlock but if you'd known you couldn't have convinced Moriarty, it was just better this way," John said putting his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and looking into his eyes.

"Now, let me get changed into something that doesn't' look as if I've been massacred and then we can get married, yeah?" John said softly

Sherlock looked like a child that had been scorned and was skulking, obviously, his head was hung and his shoulders were slumped.

"John" he said as John was about to go

"Yes Sherlock"

"Don't do that again, I don't think my heart can take it," he said shakily

John nodded and left the room through a side door and got into his spare change of clothes.

Sherlock turned to Mycroft

"I can't believe you" he said in a dangerous tone

"Stop being so childish Sherlock! Of course this was a possibility! I had to make sure that everyone was going to live! You should be thanking me!" Mycroft replied indignantly

Sherlock nodded let out a sigh "Thank you," he said quietly "but you have to remember this wasn't how I expected my wedding day to go" Mycroft smiled and put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, it was something he never did but right now it seemed appropriate, Mycroft smiled.

"I'll try to get some of the guests back, my team are on their way to clean up here, I doubt James would have made it easy to find him so we'll have to just wait for another time to try to catch him" Sherlock scoffed "no, Sherlock, we _will_ get him" and with a pat on the back Mycroft exited the room.

_Half an hour later_

Sherlock and John were sitting, now married, in a car (one of Mycroft's cars) on the way to their reception at Baker Street, everyone else had walked but John and Sherlock had decided to have some time to themselves before the party started.

At the moment there was no talking, the car was completely silent and John and Sherlock's hands were clasped together, slowly intertwining together and moving their thumbs on the others hand to calm them as they were still slightly shaky from Jims explosive entrance. John shuffled over to lean his head on Sherlock's shoulder tow which Sherlock rested his chin on Johns head and they both just sat there, letting central London move past them in a blur, the movement of so many bodies, running, walking and moving around them almost in a trance-like way, the feeling of being so small and so inconceivable in such a big place making the day even bigger in their heads, making them feel as if everyone knew they were now completely in love with each other, and no-one could part them from each other. They both breathed deeply as they pulled up at 221 Baker Street and got out from the car and made their way up the flat stairs.

The party was going well after a good, thorough 4 hours of raving in the front room, Lestrade was passed out on the sofa, drool slowly dribbling down his chin as he slept, Sally Donovan was dancing to club music with John's friends and family, Anderson was looking cynical in the corner of the room eyeing Donovan with disgust at her for letting her guard down, John was sitting on the single seat chair next to the fire with Sherlock on his lap whilst they talked drunkenly about their future life, they had already talked about keeping multi-coloured bee's and also living on a Canal Boat and they were currently talking about the idea of them settling down France, which, in Sherlock's brain, was incredibly funny, he was laughing hysterically at the idea of John in a shop and, in Sherlock's opinion, _trying _to speak to the locals in his basic, secondary school French.

"_How _is that so _funny?"_ John slurred as Sherlock tipped dangerously back and almost losing balance and falling into the fireplace

"In all honesty I don't _know _but it just _is!"_ he exclaimed bursting into another fit of tear wrenching laughter "_you!" _he gasped "_speaking FRENCH!"_ he succeeded in losing balance this time and collapsed, thankfully, forwards to land on his front, whilst still laughing muttering words like "French!", "John!" and "_no_-way!" whilst John stumbled over to help him into the chair they'd just been sitting in. Once Sherlock was securely placed in the chair but swaying his body from side to side in the chair, John walked over to his sister, who, respectfully enough, was sober and dancing getting a thrill from just dancing, when Sally Donovan clamped her hands around John's waist and started to dance with him, being completely off his face John didn't particularly care, he just wanted to carry on all night, if he just went on like this forever, happy and safe, he wouldn't mind. It just all seemed like life was sewing itself back together, stich by stich.

A/N- just something little for the end of this chapter, I love classical music and I was listening to "The Beyondness of Things" by John Barry, it sounds a little James Bond-like but it's such a beautiful piece, also I listened to the Hurts "Wonderful Life" and also a piece from Atonement (to which Benedict was in) called "The Half Killed" and that's by Dario Marianelli just in case any of you are interested, "Wonderful Life" mentions the Severn Bridge and the River Severn River goes through my town, sorry, more rambles! Honestly, I'm awful, thanks for reading you marvellous people!

Speak soon

Xxx

P.S Inbox me any idea you have about the next chapter,, I'd LOVE to hear them, I like using a mixture of people's ideas, it just widens the possibilities.** Next chapter= the morning after** (hopefully)

:D


	6. Scared, Frightened but still Loved

**A/N: Hey guys :D just want to do a wonderful thank you for **stardiva**, yet again :D and thank you to EVERYONE who is reading this and those who are being complete epic people by reviewing. Again, any idea's for this story please, do inbox me, I do love to hear your ideas for the upcoming chapters! There will be a note at the end just saying about last night and a little bit of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy that I added into this, see if any of you can guess what it is without reading my comments at the bottom.**

**Cheers guys!**

**Nicole**

**X x x**

_**Mock the Man Part VI**_

"_WHAT!" _

The scream echoed around the warehouse, bouncing off the walls and repeating the words back as if in agreement with Jim's anger.

"I shot him, I walked in and I shot the bastard dead, I watched him die! And now you tell me he's alive! Where's the proof Peter?" Jim barked at the man.

Peter Guillam let his blond hair fall across his eyes as he bent down quickly to pick up the briefcase on the floor, he hurried as he rooted through it looking for the file in question, his long black coat made Peter feel like he could take on the world but it didn't help at all when he was told he was reporting the information back to Moriarty. Finally Peter pulled out a file from the case and placed it on the only furniture in the room, a small, Victorian table which looked odd against the warehouse's bleakness. Picking up the file Jim opened it and looked inside, is face said it all, Peter noticed a flicker of disgust but the face soon contorted into an evil smile which Peter wished he would never see again.

The photo's in question, Peter knew, where of Mr Sherlock Holmes and Mr John Watson, a recently married couple, Peter had been told by his fellow colleagues that his bosses obsession with Holmes was bordering on psychotic and that Jim was completely captured by this man. One of the pictures was of Holmes and Watson at the front door of their house that had their flat in, another was a picture of Holmes and Watson in bed, both faces so peaceful and innocent, and another was of Holmes having a drag on a cigarette, practically hanging himself out from the window ledge to stop any smoke from being noticed inside the house. Peter felt sorry for the men, obviously they just wanted to have a life; they looked like any other normal couple, wanting to have an ordinary life but with the intervention of Jim, Peter highly doubted that they would still be alive for more than a week now. Finally Peter remembered the last picture but wished he's never seen it, it was of Holmes and Watson during sex, both faces completely lost in each other, tears streaming down one another's face and limbs tangled within each other, Holmes was biting Watson on the shoulder, gently, whilst their bodies were mixed with each other, Peter remembered the beads of perspiration on their skin and the feeling of intrusion when he had looked at the picture, it looked so heart felt that he wished he had someone that would feel the same about him, he didn't mind, man or woman, but what this Holmes and Watson had, it was such a strong love, Peter doubted that he'd ever find anyone like that.

Jim smiled broadly as he stayed on the picture in question a bit too long than he should of; Peter could see at a glance that his pupils were blown, dilated and that he had a thin layer of sweat on his face and before he could realise what he was doing his brain was screaming at him to hit the man, this man who was getting off at the idea of such a pure and genuine love. Peter turned around and faced away from Moriarty for a few seconds, composing himself; trying not to lose his temper with Jim, he just couldn't look at the man.

Jim coughed and Peter knew he had done what he needed too (_the sick bastard)_ and was ready to talk again.

"Thank you Peter," he said, smiling, his eyes were drooping in his post-coital _sickness_ Peter thought, this man was _sick_ "that will be all,"

Peter closed his briefcase and straightened his jacket and started to walk away

"Oh, Peter, what's your second name?" Jim asked

Peter turned around and had his poker face on "Guillam, sir, Peter Guillam,"

Jim nodded at him and smiled, obviously he had some ideas for Peter in the future but Peter was completely certain that he was going to be _no part _in his future.

Peter turned his heel and left the warehouse, pulling the collar of his coat up to protect him from the bitter wind. He disappeared back into the crowds of London.

Gregory Lestrade woke naturally. Mycroft was still asleep, his face nuzzled into the warmness of Greg's shoulder, a small smile on his face, Mycroft Holmes looked completely angelic in Greg's eyes.

Greg smiled in spite of himself, he couldn't help it, he had a Holmes in bed with him, he had a partner to whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and he was perfectly content. Sherlock had John and now he had his man, Mycroft, someone who was going to be there when he got home from work who listened, someone who he could just lie in bed a hug, not needing to share any word, just to be with. Lestrade was utterly blissful.

Sherlock Holmes was eating breakfast with his husband, both were completely happy and waiting for a new case to solve, whilst they were eating and talking the front door was given three sharp knocks. Sherlock look suspicious immediately and John looked in the direction of the door, both were bemused and wondering who that could be. Sherlock slipped from his chair to answer the door but when he opened it there was no-one there, only a little envelope, crimson red and black, elegant writing on the front.

Sherlock knew what the letter meant and who it was from, he tore it open as he made his way back into the kitchen and sat back down at the table, he opened the envelope fully now and four photo's fell out, and a note. Sherlock picked the note up first.

"_I know._

_I'm watching, _

_I'm waiting,_

_I'm coming to get him"_

Sherlock took a deep breath but he didn't notice his husband pick up the photos from his side of the table, John gasped quietly in shock as he saw the pictures and the note, he looked at the last one and whispered:

"No! The evil bastard!" before throwing them back at Sherlock and moving into the bedroom to try to see the window to which they were spied on by.

Sherlock put the note down and picked up the picture John had been most perturbed by. It was them, on their wedding night, completely lost in each other. The image itself was taken by a incredibly good camera, obviously a professional had taken it. Sherlock noticed the camera was at a slight angle, so, it was taken on a roof, not a level floor. That narrowed it down to only a few people in Sherlock's mind but he knew he'd get nothing from questioning them. He wanted to speak to Moriarty, face to face. Sherlock angrily put the pictures on the table and went after John into the bedroom, he saw John by the window, looking out at the houses behind the flat, his face was turned the other way but by the way he was sniffling it took no genius to realise John was crying. Sherlock went behind John and wrapped his arms around his waist, letting John turn around as he melted into the embrace.

"I don't feel safe, Sherlock," he whispered into the taller mans shoulder, tears dampening the expensive Spencer Hart suit.

"I know, I'll get onto Mycroft, see if he can sort out some kind of protection for you," Sherlock replied, his voice was trying to be comforting.

"He'll still find me," John said sadly "I thought that with him thinking me dead that it'd be ok for a while, just long enough for us to find him and throw him away in prison but he actually means it" John whimpered "he wants me dead, and I'm not sure I can handle that,"

Sherlock rubbed John's back soothingly

"Hey," he whispered gently "we're going to sort this, you and me, just like when we solve a case; we're going to do this and no-one is going to die during the process," Sherlock smiled and led them both to the bed where John lay down next to Sherlock, they stayed like that for a while, just lying there until Sherlock was assured that John was asleep he untangled himself from John and walked over to the curtains and drew them shut, knowing, that this had only just started.

**A/N: Any of you lot guessed what the TTSS insert was? Well it was Peter Guillam, who is played by the absolutely gorgeous, talented and completely beautiful (like Roman God beautiful, I could describe him ALL DAY) Benedict Cumberbatch, honestly, if you haven't seen it please do! It's honestly brilliant, I understood the plotline but if you don't then just watch it for Benedict thanks to all my reviewers, hopefully I'll be able to update tomorrow night or Saturday night, I don't know which yet but it WILL be done.**

**Love you all and please watch TTSS and visit the Sherlockology website **

**In a bit lovers,**

**Nicole**

**X x x**


	7. Gone

_**A/N: Hey peeps, guys, dolls, beautiful, wonderful people and yes, I'm talking to you! Just a quick little hi. A HUGE thank you AGAIN to **_stardiva_** who is a legend! Thanks for your idea, I hope that your happy with this :D again, any idea's NICE tips and feedback-no horribleness thanks.**_

_**Hugs and Love,**_

_**Nicole**_

_**X x x**_

_**P.S- sorry it's a bit late, messed up day I hope this big chapter will make up for my punctuality X**_

Mock the Man Part VII

John woke in Sherlock's arms, he looked at the bedside table, the clock on it said it had just gone midnight, and obviously, if you go to bed in the late afternoon then you'll wake up in the middle of the night ready for a new day. But the thing is John wasn't ready for the day, any ideas about leaving the flat terrified him, not because he was scared about Moriarty but because of what he would do after John was dead because John knew he was going to die soon, he could feel it, he could feel Jim's breath on his neck, like the breath of death and he knew it was only a matter of time until he was lying in a wooden box, a few relatives around his cold body and him never being able to see Sherlock again. He was _so _worried about Sherlock, about, when John was dead, what Moriarty would do _to_ Sherlock. Would Jim take him and tie him up like a zoo animal for his own amusement? Or would he violate him? Make him his toy, like a cat and a ball of string? Taunt him? Hurt him? John shivered at the thought of Sherlock alone, by himself and completely broken, tears welled up in John's eyes as he imagined Jim leering about his death, he could just hear it in his mind "_You want to die Sherlock? Do you? Join little Johnny boy up there in freakville?"_ John could imagine Sherlock, cuts all over his face and tears trickling down his dishevelled and unshaved cheeks, mingling with the blood, turning into a mixture of pain and sadness, John could imagine Sherlock's face as he nodded desperately, wanting more than anything to die and never have to see Jim's face again, John imagined what Jim would say next _"but Sherlock, that's so incredibly selfish! I love you Sherlock, I want you here, with me, together, and we could be brilliant, chasing around the city and being so clever, why would you want to leave me when we're having so much fun?" _John then thought about Jim reaching out a hand and slapping Sherlock cleanly on the face, pain exploding across the detectives face as his cuts opened up and stung like a wasp's nest had just descended onto him, Sherlock's scream woke him up.

"Hey, hey!" Sherlock ushered pulling John into his arms "hey, it's all ok," Sherlock rubbed John's back, trying to comfort the other man

"Bad dream?" Sherlock asked gently, John nodded Sherlock put a sad smile on his face "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, I promise," he tucked John's head under his chin and lay them both back down on the bed, slowly he stroked John's hair and they fell asleep yet again.

John woke again but the sun had risen and there were cracks in the curtains that were shining in his face, he looked across at the clock, 7.56am, it was very light for the time of day but lately there'd been clear, beautiful transitional days were the leaves had crackled under foot and the sky had not a cloud in sight.

_Knock Knock Knock_

John was shocked by the early call and looked at Sherlock, still asleep, he smiled slightly and untangled himself from his lover, padding across the room he pulled on a scraggly t-shirt and some decent sweat pants. Answering the door he noticed it was a delivery man, a satchel across his chest, the logistics company emblazoned on his uniform, how'd he get in the house though? Mrs Hudson? Mrs Turner? John put it to the back of his mind.

"Yes?" he said a little too irritated

The man stumbled slightly at the sight of John, John guessed it was his first day, the man struggled for words

"Um, good morning um, sir, I have a-a package for you," he stammered, still looking like a deer in the headlights, he raised his clipboard towards John who took it and looked at the sheet, and in that one second he lost all concentration he didn't notice the man pull a syringe from his satchel and put it straight into his neck, right into the blood stream. John Watson's sight went black and from the depths of his conscious brain the words from around him were taken in, John recognised that voice through the state of his unconsciousness very, very well.

"Me and you Johnny-boy. We're going to have _so much fun!"_

Sherlock woke, his face was directly looking at the clock, he saw the time, 8.13am, and he automatically guessed John was behind him, that he'd moved from when they'd huddled together.

"Morning John" he said as he turned over, but John wasn't there, just cold sheets.

Sherlock moved to his feet quickly, and rushed into the front room, no John.

"John?" Sherlock called

No reply

Sherlock turned around and a blur of red caught his eye as he spun on the spot. He turned back to face the flat door and there, lying on the ground on the threshold was a crimson envelope. Sherlock rushed over to it and ripped it open.

_I have your heart, _

_Now watch it burn, _

_I know you're smart,_

_I'll be back tomorrow and you'll get what you yearn._

Sherlock screwed up the piece of paper in his hand in pure hatred for Jim Moriarty. Letting out a bellowing roar he threw the screwed up piece of paper at the wall. Tears streamed down his face as he felt his world crashing around him, Jim had John. And he wasn't going to hold back on his punishments for trying to evade death once. Sherlock, his eyes raw as he cried furiously at the idea of Jim hurting John, _his _John and after a few minutes he picked up his Blackberry, pulled himself together and phoned Mycroft. On the third ring tone it was answered.

"Mycroft, it's me-"

"Hey Sherlock, it's Greg, Mycroft left me his phone, he's got another, he said you might phone, don't worry, we're already onto it, we're trying to track him down, we've blocked all transmission to CCTV, to stop Jim from accessing files and wiping them. Don't worry, Sherlock, we'll find him, I'm certain of it," Greg finished, his voice slightly strained towards the end, even speaking the words didn't mean that Greg completely believed himself.

Sherlock upturned his nose as he thought about his brother and his "boss" so to speak.

"Thank you, Greg, and tell Mycroft too," Sherlock said curtly and hung up before striding into the bedroom and getting changed. Sherlock was certain of one thing, it was a completely logical and was Sherlock's motive to carry on.

_Because Sherlock Holmes was completely positive he was going to kill James Moriarty._

James stirred in his 100% Egyptian cotton bed sheets. Relaxation massaging his muscles into staying still, that wonderful pain that came from a night of utter bliss. James turned and faced his bed partner and there, nestled in the sheets was Peter Guillam, his blond hair was messing and sticking up at odd angles, his eyes were completely closed and he looked so peaceful. James smiled to himself and reached across to stroke his hair, this is what James was scared of people finding out. His compassionate side, his sensitive side, his lover side, no-one could or would ever find out that he had emotions that weren't hate and lust and anger. He wriggled across to Peter's sleeping form and nuzzled into his neck, pushing their bodies together, creating a fire across his skin and feeling like he could take on the world. And facing Sherlock Holmes, he knew he was going to have to savour that confidence.

And just to assure you Peter Guillam was _not _willing in what had happened the night before, Jim had invited him to dinner, and, being one of the most dangerous men in the world Peter couldn't have said no, not unless he _wanted _to die. Anyway, as the night dragged on Peter played his part well, pretending to be interested in what Jim had to say, nodding and smiling at the right times. He thought it was all going incredibly well until Jim offered, well, no he _ordered_ Peter to stay with him. He took him to a hotel room and well…in less explicit terms…Peter Guillam had become James Moriarty's unrequited lover. And Peter just wanted to run away and hide but he stayed, he didn't actually know why but he knew that Jim expected him to stay with him.

_So this is me _Peter thought bitterly _fuck toy of a master criminal, lonely, friendless and general Mr Invisible man to the rest of the world, maybe this life suits me _he pondered_ maybe this is it for me, maybe this is going to be my life, maybe I've just got to get used to it? _Peter shook himself_ Well, as much as this man disgusts me I guess he's my only lover I'll ever have had or have, and I don't have to abide by the la. _Peter smiled _I think it's time that my inner criminal should be released…_

Sherlock strode into Scotland Yard, one of John's jumper's clutched in his bare hand, he didn't want to wear the Paul Smith leather gloves that Mummy had bought him for Christmas, he wanted to kill Jim with his bare hands.

Greg was waiting in his office for Sherlock to arrive, a list of all the people to whom would be helping him search for John.

Sherlock stormed in.

"Any more news?" he barked at Lestrade, Greg shook his head

"None, but we've, so far, tracked it down to five places, the docks"

"Predictable"

"Yes, well, that's where we've traced him too, and Mycroft has a team ready to go anywhere we need them at the drop of a hat"

"Dull"

"SHUT UP SHERLOCK!" Lestrade bellowed, noticing how much he'd just lost him temper "I know you care for him so don't you _dare_ try to hide it, he doesn't deserve that, after everything he's done to help and protect you, he loves you, and you him. So bloody well act like you do" Lestrade finished

Sherlock looked at Greg for a second and then walked around the room, closing the blinds, once they were all closed he turned to Greg.

And burst into tears.

A/N: Listen to Run by Amy McDonald, it pretty much suits this chapter :D


	8. Found and Broken

_**A/N: Hello again, sorry it doesn't REALLY follow the story to what I'd hoped but here you go. I'm addicted to this story now. And tomorrow I'll upload another chapter before Doctor Who. Hopefully. :D enjoy my lovelies xx**_

_**Nicole**_

_**X x x**_

Mock the Man Part VIII

Sherringford pulled her collar up as she walked into the British Secret Service. She wasn't happy about her summoning, Mycroft was taking the piss, _and_ she had to take a train from Edinburgh, first class, just because he called her.

She looked at her watch, running late, but she liked that, she didn't mind, Mycroft was the one that was beckoning her like some dog, she frowned angrily and tucked her ginger hair behind her ear, her face was pink tinged, her usually pale complexion was diminished by the cold weather tearing at the blood vessels on her cheeks, making them sting and erupt into red blossom.

She pushed the revolving doors and walked into the reception.

"I'm here to see Holmes," she said coolly to the receptionist who nodded at Sherringford and led her to a door, opened it for her and let her walk into the room.

"Mycroft Holmes," she said to the man at the desk, seriousness lacing her tone

Mycroft's face cracked into a huge grin "Sherringford!"

She shared the smile gently and walked over to her and enveloped him into a hug, they shared the moment for a second and then pulled back. Sherringford clapped her hands together.

"So, what's this about someone stealing my big brother's husband?" she said

Sherlock stirred as he woke, it was only day two and the day that Sherlock was meant to meet Moriarty but it had felt like John had been gone for years. Sherlock pulled the blanket over him more and pulled John's jumper to his nose and breathed in the smell.

"OI!" a woman's voice said above him, hang on, Sherlock knew that voice.

Suddenly Sherlock's view was blinded by light, auburn hair tickling his face and green, inquisitive eyes searching his face.

"Christ Sherlock you look like absolute shit," the woman said, amusement tinging the tone of her voice

"Sherringford?" Sherlock uttered slowly

"Wow, how much cooking brandy did it take to delete your sister's name from your brain?" Sherringford said disbelievingly "now, get up, we have work to do, although first" she sniffed the air "take a shower first,"

Sherlock smiled at his sister, she was so like his mother in the way she took charge of situations and unlike Sherlock and a little bit unlike Mycroft she had the emotional capability of understanding people on a one to one basis.

She held out her hand and he took it gladly, pulling him up she helped him out of his clothes and left the bathroom whilst he took his boxers off to get into the shower.

"Safe to come in?" she called as she heard the water quieten as Sherlock let the water glide along his back.

"Yes," he called back; she opened the door to the bathroom, pulled the toilet seat down and sat on the toilet whilst her brother showered.

She smiled "So Sherlock, where was my invite to your wedding?" she asked jokingly

She heard Sherlock laugh slightly and she carried on

"Nah, I'm only joking," she paused "so, this man. John. Well, I never thought I'd know a person who would put up with you," she laughed "he must be very special," she continued sincerely "so special, and you're so lucky to meet someone so honest and brave and true, oh yeah, Mycroft told me about him killing Jeff, he sounds like he really, really loves you," she stopped abruptly as she heard a choking sound from the shower, grabbing the towel from the side she rushed over to the shower curtain, pulling it back she saw Sherlock's form on the bottom of the bath tub, hot water pouring over his face mingling in with tears.

"Christ, I'm so so sorry!" she said, turning the hot water off she gathered her brother up in the towel and helped him from the shower, they sat on the edge of the bath, Sherlock's head resting on his sister's shoulder, neither of them caring about Sherlock's wet hair on her t-shirt.

"You're not ok," she said quietly "please, tell me, no-one else needs to know, tell me what's wrong"

Sherlock sniffed "It's my fault, I care about him so much and then he ends up in so much danger, I want to go and help him but I don't know where to go. I know he's leading the police on, he's not in the Docklands and I can't think about anything else _but John_, he's my missing piece Sherringford, he's everything to me, _everything_. And I can't stop this guilt, it's so raw and so engulfing that I…." he broke off "I just can't take it. I'm constantly in tears, my mind is making these _images _of Jim doing things to John. _I need him SO MUCH Sherringford, _so much that it hurts,"

Sherringford nodded, warmth flooding her heart.

"Let's go save him," she said

"But-"

"I think I've found him," she said clearly, she saw hope flicker across Sherlock's face "get changed and we'll go,"

Half an hour later Sherlock, Mycroft and Sherringford were speeding to Pentonville in a taxi to a recently bought run-down house, it was old, Victorian and quite isolated from the terrace street that was seconds away from the rest of the neighbourhood. Ivy crawled up the walls of the house like fingers, tracing the windows eerily.

Sherlock shivered as he thought of John alone and as soon as he was bought back to Earth he was walking over the broken front door (courtesy of Sherringford and her "secret" lessons) into the house. Sherlock rushed around the house searching for John, but he was no-where.

"Are you sure he's here?" he barked at his sister

"Yes, I'm certain, keep looking"

Sherlock rushed back upstairs and looked around again, still nothing. He pondered for a second and walked out onto the hallway. And looked up. Attic.

Sherlock jumped up and hit the attic trapdoor, making it push to one side, clinging onto the sill he, slowly and awkwardly, made his way into the attic, there was no lights, he reached into his coat pocket and drew out his pocket torch, turned it on a gasped in shock in what sight met his eyes.

John, spread eagled on the floor, face down on the floor, cuts and bruises littered his body as common as dead skin cells on one's own body. Sherlock panted in fear and pain as he pulled his coat off and shrouded John in his coat, tucked under Johns chin was another crimson envelope, Sherlock picked his chin up and pulled the envelope from under John's chin and ripped it open, pointing the torch at the note:

_You've found your heart, _

_But now you must mend it,_

_It'll tear you apart,_

_When he needs a hit._

Sherlock pulled John into his arms, the last line of the poem stuck in his head "hit"? Then the penny dropped. "Hit". Oh no…


	9. Healing

Mock the Man Part IX

A/N: So guess what? I spend half a day wondering what could be wrong with the chapters and then it hits me, I've been a complete and utter fool and I've put X instead of V for now three chapters *seriousfacepalmmoment* but now, I know that I need to carry on with the story.

Sorry it's taken me so long to update, 1) been stuck for idea's and 2) I had a hellish weekend, went to see Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy AGAIN last night. No complaints here

Thanks, yet again to ALL who review, including the lovely Hats for Alice and stardiva whom are so lovely and complimentary to my story/stories.

Hugs and love,

Nicole

P.S- don't worry stardiva, John won't be hurt anymore after this chapter, it's all road to recovery, angsty and fluffy x

X x x

Disclaimer: Don't own one drop of Sherlock, if I did, John and Sherlock wouldn't be so blind :D

Mock the Man Part IX

Sherlock hurried around, wrapping John up properly and checking his pulse and other places that would be affected, it was all becoming too much, tears were forming in his eyes. Hit, he'd been forcibly given drugs. Sherlock sniffed.

"Sherringford!" he practically screamed from the hatch.

Seconds later Sherringford appeared, running up the battered stairs her face tinged pink from rushing.

"You've got him," she stated

Sherlock nodded "I need to pass him down to you, I can't do it alone," he willed the tears to disappear but they wouldn't, they clung onto his dark eyelashes and fell onto the floor. He lowered John down, his arms under John's armpits and gave him to his sister, who, undoubtedly strong and well built, lowered him to the floor gently, doing up the coat and looking at his injuries. Sherlock jumped out from the attic and went straight to John's body, he rolled up the sleeves of his coat and his worst fear became reality. Track marks, like tattoos condemning John to the hardest year of his life. Sherlock put him over his shoulder and took him downstairs, Mycroft was waiting by the car, holding the door open as the detective gently laid his lover on the back car seat, moving into the car he arranged John so his head was on his lap, Sherlock ran a hand across his face, through his hair. _I've got him back, it's all ok._ Sherlock paused_ but it isn't, he's going to be in pain for a good while fighting this _he looked down at John_ but we will do this. Together._

"I thought John being at home, with you, would be better than any clinical environment," Mycroft looked at Sherlock "being a former addict, I think you know what's best for him Sherlock," he looked between the two of them "don't worry about the rent or food, I'll have people sorting those chores out, you need to be with him, completely and wholly, he needs you right now,"

Sherlock shook his head "What if I do something wrong?" he asked, voice trembling "I could never forgive myself if I hurt him, Mycroft, I'd rather die slowly," Mycroft nodded, he glanced at Sherringford who nodded to him solemnly

"I know you won't, Sherlock," he said sincerely "if you love him as much as I'm," he corrected himself "_we're_ getting the impression that you do then you'll know what's best for him,"

They pulled up to Baker Street, Sherlock took a breath and picked John up, Sherringford helped unload the still unconscious man from the car and into the flat, they got him onto the bed and Sherlock sat next to him, taking his cold hand into his own warm hand.

Sherringford looked at her big brother and sniffed indignantly. She didn't want to leave but London wasn't safe for her if she stayed too long, she went and sat next to her brother.

"I've got to go," she started sadly "I'm needed up North, I'm sorry Sherlock, I wish I could stay and help, but I need to go," she paused slightly "I'll come down at every opportunity, I promise," she kissed his cheek, put her hand over his and rubbed her thumb on his knuckles and left. Mycroft walked in next.

"I can stay for tonight if you like," he offered

Sherlock shook his head.

"I can do this," he said quietly, Mycroft patted him on the back.

"Anything you need, you call me," he assured him "I'll have your security level updated, and I'll come back tomorrow to see how you're getting on, okay?"

Sherlock nodded and Mycroft swept from the room, the front door clicking as he exited the building.

Sherlock looked down at the figure below him, John was slightly stirring now, waking up, Sherlock gulped. This wasn't going to be pretty.

John woke to a head splitting headache. Groaning he tried to sit up, but as he did he realised he was tied down. Then the images of the past day flooded him. Moriarty, a needle, pain, the craving.

The craving was the worst, he looked around, wait, he was home, the smell, the familiarity was astounding, he was still high, he knew it, Sherlock couldn't have found him, he'd been too well hidden. Moriarty had told him Sherlock was dead anyway. And proved it, he'd put the body with him in the attic. John was so caught up in confused thought he shouted as a figure approached the bed he was lying on and tied to.

"Sh-sh-sherlock?" he whispered eyes wide and scared

Sherlock reached out and held John's face in his hand, John's eyes closed happily.

"I know your d-dead but this could be real, it's so p-p-painful Sherlock," he whispered, tears streaming down his face.

Sherlock shuddered; Jim had told him he was dead. Oh shit, this day was getting so much worse.

Sherlock looked a John seriously "I'm not dead, John, he was lying, I'm here, with you, please believe me,"

John shook his head, eyes welling up even more and his face contorting into pain

"NO!" he shouted "I know you're dead, I saw the body, he taunted me with it, he made me touch it," John shuddered "I'm so cold,"

Sherlock nodded and went into the bathroom "I can prove you're not delusional, look" he picked up a bowl and a sponge and filled the bowl with warm water, slowly he put the sponge in, then put in down on the floor and went over to John, started to unbutton his coat, revealing scratches and bruises, picking the bowl up he started to dab the cuts and clean them, John hissed at the water went into the new cuts.

"Please could you turn over?" Sherlock asked when he'd finished cleaning John's front; he nodded slowly and said nothing before turning over, making the rope attached to the headboard spin over itself. Sherlock started to clean the wounds on his back too. Half an hour later John was relatively clean and was starting to have cravings, he'd started asking for more as he'd turned back over to face Sherlock.

"I need more, Sherlock, please, I don't want you to disappear, please," he begged, tears sliding down his face "I'm so tired, I need more, I need it so much, please Sherlock, please, please, please,"

Sherlock shook his head "I can't" he sobbed, it hurt his heart to see John like this "please, don't speak, it's killing me, this is reality, I'm not going anywhere, I promise," he put his hand on John's face and caressed his cheek with his thumb "I'm real,"

John shook his head and Sherlock sobbed harder, this was more difficult than he thought it'd be.

So a month passed and Sherlock, slowly and steadily helped John to fight the addiction, he was still going through a rough time, they both were but now John could believe Sherlock when he said he was real, he believed him when Sherlock told him that Jim was just taunting him. And Sherlock could see the light at the end of the tunnel even though the light was a long way away.

Peter Guillam strolled across Regents Park, looking at the soil flower beds and the dry water fountains, he'd been thinking lately about what he was going to do when Jim had had enough. Move? Stay? Start up a business, forget about Jim and all those things he'd seen and all those things he's done and just find a wife? His brain mused for a while until a pair of cold hand worked their way from behind, opened his coat and rested under the waistband of his trousers, a warmth growing there by the second, making Peter shiver in delight. He stopped walking and turned his head to face behind him. Of course he knew it was Jim, but he didn't know how needy Jim had become during the day.

"Come on," he whispered quietly and dangerously "there's a nice hotel around the corner, my treat," and taking his hands from Peters navel he grabbed his hand and tugged him along towards the hotel.

_Let's not dwell on the future_ Peter thought idly as he was tugged along by Jim _I'd rather think about _now.


	10. Peter and James

A/N: Hello

:D

Sorry for this bit, I know, I know! It's little bit of a messy chapter in the way that it comes before the meeting of Sherlock and Jim (which should be posted tomorrow afternoon, if all goes to plan) but hopefully because of the super-brilliant-fantastic-marvelous-spectacular stardiva who basically wrote this bit of smut for me because she's just too kind and I'm a scared little child and my siblings, especially my sister, are very nosy and annoying person.

Anyway, ONWARDS!

Mock the Man Part XI

As Peter stood in the Hotel room, watching London below, the city that never stopped for breath, always pumping the blood of cars and tourists around the veins and arteries of its streets he turned around to see his boss/lover James close the door and come over to his side; Jim went behind him and put his arms around his lover. He whispered deliciously

"Take off your slacks, my dear,"

Peter wordlessly obeyed this command, pulling his grey/brown tweed trousers so they fell to the floor and pooled around his ankles, loosening his sky blue tie and taking off his grey/ brown matching suit jacket. He then moved to unbutton his white dress shirt as he stepped out of the slacks at his feet, pulling his shoes and socks off gracefully, his blonde hair fell across his beautiful eyes and as he stood up he felt James' hand brush the soft fringe to one side, almost like he cared but Peter knew deep down he was just a plaything that would sate his lover of his desires.

Peter reached for Jim's black tie, tiny skulls patterned on, but Jim's hands slapped Peters own hands away.

"No, my pet, Master will do that. You are my love slave and my wishes are to play with my new toy"

Jim then kissed Peter's neck with soft yet urgent kisses. His toy his beautiful toy was giving his body to him, James Moriarty. His slave was now his, at least for tonight.

James led him to the bed whilst pulling off his clothes and laid his slave on the bed. Jim then mounted and entered his lover with one thrust. A body that was eager to receive it.

Peter woke in the night, feeling movement next to him, it was Jim.

"What's going on?" Peter said innocently, putting a hand in Jim's hair and massaging his lovers scalp, Jim stopped what he was doing and looked at Peter, as if contemplating.

"I need to go, but before I do, I think we have time for something, don't you?" Jim said dangerously before he pulled the duvet over his head and dug deep under the covers before finding a place that Jim knew well.

Peter, in that second, lost all train of thought and succumbed to the pleasure his lover was giving him, smiling like the cat that got the cream.

After a 25 minutes Jim was done and was hurrying around, collecting clothes and looking extremely pleased with himself.

"Sherlock's called, he has something for me I think," Jim said coolly as he opened the Hotel door "don't worry, I'm not going to be gone long," one last smile and the door closed.

Peter turned over and smiled himself to sleep.


	11. Revenge in the Baths

**Listen to "He Killed the Dog Again" and then "Marital Sabotage" by Hans Zimmer (on Grooveshark, or just listen to the Sherlock Holmes Motion Picture Album) and read this, I think it describes how Sherlock feels.**

Mock the Man Part X

Sherlock was wrapped around John's body as they slept through the night, John, strangely, instead of put weight on during his "rehab" time had actually lost weight, making Sherlock increasingly more worried about him and his personality, hoping it wouldn't change his demeanour or his preferences. Sherlock would lie in bed at night, John's now skinnier arms wrapped securely around Sherlock's waist and his head laid on Sherlock's chest. Somehow though Sherlock felt as if John wasn't John, Sherlock felt like it would take a good 2 or 3 years until _his John _was back, wrapped in his arms, his warm skin against Sherlock's own. His strong heart beating regularly, keeping Sherlock tied to the ground and keep his mind clear, it was like the beat of a drum that kept his vision from clouding up with fog.

Sherlock's brain, in that moment had one thought. Revenge. And he knew exactly what to do.

He slipped from John's grasp, untangling himself from the other man, walking into the living room he went to one of the draws in the kitchen. Pulling out the pink phone from the draw he pulled out a universal charger, selected the iPhone lead and plugged it into the wall. Pacing furiously he waited for a few minutes to charge up enough to be able to be used. After a few seconds Sherlock leapt to his coat and pulled out his wallet and searched for Jim's number.

The phone pinged to show it was on, the battery image flashed up and Sherlock raced over to the phone, turning it on took an absolute age in Sherlock's opinion. Once the phone was set up Sherlock typed Jim's number in and texted furiously.

_Need to talk. Tell me where to meet you._

A reply came back within a minute.

_Same place as last time. Tell anyone where you're going and I'll shoot you personally, this better be good._

Sherlock took a glance at the text, pulled his coat on and rushed from the house, grabbing John's gun, keys and his blackberry he ran from the flat.

He was going to make sure that Moriarty was not breathing by dawn. For hurting John, Moriarty was going to pay the price.

He ran through the streets, past shops, cafés and late night bars, fluorescent lights glowing on his face as he flew past the windows, his pace never faltering, his long legs making the run easier, breathing quicker and quicker he dodged around people and lamp posts, cars and post boxes, telephone boxes and the homeless, running, always running, and Sherlock felt the adrenaline kick in, he sped up again, cheeks burning as the cold make his skin crawl like there was a million bugs under his skin, his coat billowing out behind him. Sherlock stopped quickly, looked down an alley and then ran down it, pulling himself up the stairs behind a club he ran all the way to the roof, clambering up onto the roof he ran across it and jumped, hitting the next building's roof, and then next, and the next, his pace, determined and angry, he pounded onto the surfaces below him in frustration. Running down some steps he practically leapt down the last flight and rushed to the building, walking inside, his stomach fluttered slightly at the thought of doing this again.

A same door opened to the swimming pool and out stepped Moriarty, his usual suit on, his face plastered with a grin, Sherlock's brain was already working at twice the pace it usually did, picking out clues and information.

_Creased collar= just been put on after being left on the floor._

_Jacket slightly crinkled=been thrown on the floor for around half an hour_

_Tiny white splattered marks on his face=been or has given oral sex not an hour ago_

_Neck= love bite or something like on his jaw, not an experienced lover, doesn't know how to do love bites correctly, under-practised. _

_Eyes dilated=sexual intercourse/arousal_

_Slightly red cheek= exertion and arousal_

_Trousers/belt/zip=zip is half done up, running and in a rush to get ready, belt is undone one hole more then usual, to compensate for the amount of running/ movement, trousers slightly creased, thrown off in a hurry and dumped in a pile, slight leaf debris on the hem by the ankle, been by tree's or a park._

_Hands shaking slightly=adrenaline still pumping through his veins from the intercourse_

_Smell of cologne=not his own, his lover/escort's smell_

_Shoes=not muddy, leaf debris and slight sand on the tip of the Brogue, ran past roadwork's or a building site _

_Hair= messed and dishevelled= intercourse_

_**Conclusion-**_

_Just been to hotel on the other street next to the roadwork's that have been going on for three days now, the cologne is expensive, though not overly expensive, lover, not escort, a man like this wouldn't wear perfume like that if he was an escort, crinkled shirt, dilated eyes, white splatter marks, trousers and jacket, along with the messed hair proves he's had intercourse within the last hour and the shoes and hem of the trousers proves he's run from the hotel, past roadwork's on St Clement Street, through a park to here, his red face proves he's run the majority of the way here, the love bites prove that it's no escort he's shagging, an escort would know how to make love bites however this man has made them incorrectly, not sucking enough, too scared to hurt his bed-mate, therefore he's scared of getting on the wrong side of his lover, a shy man with a good life until he found Jim. An employee of Jim whom Jim has taken a shine to, poor man._

Jim licked his lips and looked at Sherlock happily.

"What can I do for you, my dear?"

**A/N: Just so you know the amazing stardiva is writing a bit of smut for me between Peter and Jim so I'll put that in before this chapter tomorrow *fingers crossed* if she can write it by then.**

**Sorry for this being so late, but you lot stick by me you wonderful people**

**:D**

**Hugs,**

**Nicole,**

**X x x**


	12. The End is Only the Start of Yet to Come

Mock the Man Part XII

A/N: Oh my GOODNNNEEESSS! I'm so sorry for the wait, the normal "THANK YOU'S" to all the crew who have kept me going but now it's time for the final chapter, I hope you enjoy it :D

Although first I owe you ALL a big apology, which I will account for now! After a few weeks of deliberating mum decided we're moving house, excellent, so I've been packing because we move in on Tuesday of next week (gulp) but it's my 8th move in just as many years(ish, maybe 10, I can't remember) _anyway_ subject change, I've got three GCSE's coming up soon (shit, haven't revised!) and I need to get those done REALLY before I did this but oh well, I had this half completed a few weeks ago, now I'm rambling, rambling, rambling so I'm going to stop!

Enjoy my lovely people!

Nicole

X x x

P.S-my Youth theatre is going well and I'm going to be performing in my local Theatre (Theatre Seven) next March and we've been rehearsing like MENTAL PEOPLE! So, yeah, I'm going to let you go and read.

Sherlock's eyes glittered as his mind flickered through the conclusions in his mind.

Moriarty knew this was the end, that's why he had a lover, that's why he came and that's why, behind those devious, evil, hateful eyes, lay _fear_ and Sherlock couldn't help but know that that gave Sherlock himself the upper hand.

Moriarty sauntered over, he kept looking from side to side in his reptilian fashion, licking his lips and eyeing Sherlock up. Sherlock tensed instantly, his hand wavering behind him as he contemplated whether or not to get out the gun tucked into the waistband of his suit.

"I know why you're here, Sherlock," he said seriously, his tone solemn "I know why you called me here,"

Sherlock looked at his, confusion plastering his face. He knew? He knew he was about to get killed? Then where were his goons? Or his back-up men, snipers and hit-men? Moriarty saw the furrowed brow of his enemy and knew he had to explain.

"Okay, okay, you win!" he said loudly, bursting out into manic laughter "I tried to keep a straight face but I can't!"

Now Sherlock was _really_ confused and he didn't like that feeling one bit. Moriarty finally reached Sherlock, he lifted his hands up to cup Sherlock's cheeks, he was so entranced by those high cheekbones and full lips he almost slapped Sherlock as he pulled away.

"Now now, don't play hard to get!" Moriarty sang to Sherlock happily "I know it's strange but you'll get used to it,"

Sherlock's brain pulled the last bit of the puzzle piece from the conclusions and slotted it in perfectly. Now he knew what Moriarty was thinking. He was thinking that Sherlock wanted to run away with him, that now John was, in Moriarty's opinion "out of the way" they could be together and Sherlock had seen "sense". Now armed with this information Sherlock knew exactly how to handle the situation.

"I will get used to it Jim," Sherlock said suggestively as he walked back over to Moriarty, putting his hands either side of Jim's face he pushed their lips together in a fiery kiss, after a few seconds Sherlock took one hand away and put it behind him, pulling out John's gun he turned the safety off and aimed the gun at Jim's leg. Moriarty broke the kiss and looked into Sherlock's eyes, not noticing the danger he was in, his lust filled eyes looked at Sherlock who smiled warmly at him.

He pulled the trigger.

Blood, pain and screams covered the beige pool tiles, within seconds it was trickling into the pool water, making shapes and smoke like creations on the water as the jets swirled the water and blood mixture around. Moriarty sank to floor like a pallet of bricks, he tried to put his hand down to ease the fall but the pain distracted him and he crumpled in agony. His body contorting and burning in complete, raw pain at the affliction Sherlock had caused.

"_That was for John,"_ Sherlock shouted at the man writhing in pain on the cold tiles.

Sherlock aimed the gun for Jim's heart, turned off the safety and fired.

The writhing stopped instantly, and the screaming. But the blood continued to pour into the pool and the floor guttering, like a river of haemoglobin, twisting and turning from it's now cooling owner.

Sherlock took a few steps towards Jim, then crouched down and whispered into his ear, knowing full well the brain was still active for at least another hour, making sure that the last words he heard were from his lips.

"And that was from me, James Moriarty," he whispered, his eyes black and uncaring he stood up, pulled his Blackberry out and texted quickly.

_The pool, his body's there, needs a clean-up job ASAP._

_Don't ask questions because you'll get no answers._

_I won't forget this._

_SH_

Tucking it away in his coat he sighed at the mess Jim had made. _So selfish, even in death _Sherlock thought bitterly before turning away from the body and making his way back home. As he left the building his phone chimed, pulling it out he read the message on the screen.

_Congratulations, brother._

_It'll be done._

_Get home safe._

_MH_

Sherlock sighed contently and walked through the streets, his shoulders lighter, as if the world had been lifted from them, his step had a spring in it. He found himself smiling, not in any psychopathic sense, just in a sense that Sherlock knew that he could well and truly see the light at the end of the tunnel now.

Everything was going to be okay.

As Sherlock pulled the door closed to the flat he took off his coat, gloves, socks jacket and shoes, he couldn't stop smiling and as he peered into the bedroom and saw John still asleep, Sherlock pulled the duvet over him and John and fell asleep, still fully clothed and not caring one bit.

A few hours later Sherlock woke to the sound of Big Ben chiming, the sunlight poured through the crack in the curtains and he couldn't help but snuggle closer to the form of John, noticing the golden light hitting the Doctor's sandy hair, illuminating it and making Sherlock realised just how much of John was still there, under the surface, waiting to be found again.

He knew they'd make it. He'd help John as much as John had helped him find his heart and had thawed it out just as if he was Afghan sun, radiating Sherlock with love and affection, caring and hope. Hope that in this short life, with its constant death and bad news and _crap telly_, Sherlock could always find home in John's heart and Sherlock knew, from that moment, that they would both come out of this alive and well.

[6 months later]

The water was running, hot and steaming up the kitchen windows. The cold winter wind battered at the window panes, making them shudder and squeak as if being tortured. Sherlock tutted at them as he moved the piece of cardboard to keep them still to a more secure and quiet to a more useful place, as soon as he had tucked it into another corner the shuddering stopped and he sighed as he realised the unintended metaphor. These last few shaky months, shaky in the fact that Sherlock barely let John from his sight. He constantly made sure he was okay, happy and content with his surroundings and how he felt. He constantly checked that he was doing things right because still after so long he never let John do any housework and insisted he rest and get better.

But John was in a clearer state of mind now. His eyes were transitioning into their old self. Apart from him jumping at slight bangs from the flats below and above he seemed relatively normal and back to his old self. However Sherlock knew that man was going to take much longer to bring back. Other people didn't hear John waking in the night, his face covered in tear tracks, his eyes afraid and worried, only to be soothed by the man next to him, Sherlock would wrap his arms around John and let his lover's head fall to his shoulder as he sobbed, he would silently wish for all of it to end. For John to stop hurting but with his history of PTSD, Sherlock guessed this would be another set-back that they would have to break through. But to be completely honest Sherlock didn't mind. Doing the washing up, tidying around, using the hoover and doing cases now seemed like the normal thing to do. Taking John with him to Scotland Yard was something he was weary about, constant reminders of his endurance and constant murder. Sherlock fretted for his mental safety, and yet John would say again and again that it was just something he had to admit, he was always going to have reminders of what he went through and how is was the same of some of the victims he was staring down at.

Sherlock plunged the plates into the hot water; the steam was billowing around the room, making it look as if it was being invaded by ghosts of memories , never making proper shapes, never making shapes that would resemble anything but enough to make the hairs on the back of Sherlock's neck stand on end as the vapour cooled onto his skin as a thin sheen of mist.

Sighing he called into the kitchen.

"Are you alright in there?"

The call that came back was somewhat bored in some way but amused in other.

"Of course I'm fine, if you keep treating me like I'm going to shatter, I promise I will accidently self-combust from boredom, oh god, I sound like you," John said as he walked to the sliding doors to the kitchen, resting his left shoulder on the door frame, his right hand was clasped on a walking cane and his face had a gentle smiled graced upon it.

Sherlock laughed quietly, the smile he only saved for John and when he felt like he was just talking to his true best friend. John smiled back, his mouth opened as if he was about to say something, but at the last second he changed the first letter because he closed his mouth to start again.

"Um-I," he paused "I just want to say that if it wasn't for you, looking after me and caring for me so much that, I doubt I'd be alive right now," Sherlock looked at him dangerously, as if to scorn him for thinking such a preposterous thought "no! Stop, don't look like that, we both know it's true. If you hadn't taken Mycroft's advice and you hadn't done this yourself, if you'd put me into a rehabilitation centre I doubt I'd be here at all, I think I'd just be a shell, an empty shadow of what kind of person I was, but because you knew what was happening, because you know what to do, the symptoms and the causes and you have, to a certain degree, enough knowledge in the chemistry department then you managed to fix me. I mean, there's still the nightmares and the other psychological features but I know, and you've said it yourself, that you'd do anything to take that away, and I believe you and I just want to thank you so much because you're such a wonderful person Sherlock, you're kind, funny, unselfish, caring-"

"But _you_ made me this person, you made me this person who, I admit now, I like better than the cold hearted bastard before-"

"Shut up, I'm praising you here," John said softly, walking over to the other man and putting a cold hand to his face, Sherlock enjoyed the sensation of the cold hand on his red, steam ladened cheeks "I think that without having someone like you, someone who would move the earth for me. You made me better, you made my heart and my soul better, you nourished me with your love and you've treated me so well for these past months, you've treated me better than I expected, sorry, that's not meant to be an insult by the way, but I've realised that maybe, just maybe….this is heaven. This is what people search for when they live and when they try to find that one person who will make them their heart and care for them and sacrifice anything for them. That's you."

John finished and looked at Sherlock straight in the eye, Sherlock felt naked when John did this, he felt as if John was seeing everything about him, about his life, about his brain, it was like he was peering into his head [minus the blood...].

Sherlock didn't know what to say, so his dry throat choked up his only automatic response to anything likened to flattery.

"Thank you," he murmured

John nodded and left the kitchen, before he crossed into the living room he added

"I'll be in the bedroom,"

Sherlock smiled excitedly and got on with the washing up, anticipation seeping through his veins. John was 93.4% back. And he was never letting him go again.

He finished the washing up and peered at his phone, checking it quickly, noticing it had a message he opened it, wishing things would speed up when he was in a hurry, it seemed as if everything slowed when he wanted it to go quicker.

_Number: [Withheld]_

_Message:_

_For what you've done to me I will wreak havoc on your life._

_Watch out, I'm coming to find you Sherlock Holmes._

_SM & PG_

_We'll be seeing you very VERY soon._

Sherlock sucked in a breath in fright. Not knowing how his actions had snowballed into something truly awful. Something that was coming to get him.

Fin.

[*After thing have settled down there will be a sequel, but come on guys, gimme time! Moving house is taking MUCH longer than expected and to be honest the plot will be shit if I try to think of of one in all this hullabaloo….see you guys REAL soon- don't forget to review because it'll help me move those boxes quicker!*]


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